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by trashtrove (editoress)



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mandalorian Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21799561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/editoress/pseuds/trashtrove
Summary: The Mandalorian needs to lie low for a while with the kid.  Who better to help than another Mandalorian?  And who better to remind him what he's missing by working solo?
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89





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**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cass'ika for being my beta!
> 
> This one will have a lot of Mando'a and Mandalorian culture in it, so two important notes before we begin:
> 
> 1\. All Mando'a is translated for your convenience! This is best viewed on desktop; just hover the mouse over any Mando'a, and the English equivalent will appear. For those on mobile or curious parties, more thorough translations are included in the notes at the bottom.
> 
> 2\. When the show says that Mandalorians never remove their helmets, I take it to mean that they never remove their helmets _in front of outsiders._

The Mandalorian sighed.

The sound filtered gently through the helmet speakers with a tinny fizzle. The kid’s ears twitched at it, and he craned his head back to blink up at Din. Din had him propped on one thigh and was piloting, as ever, with one hand. It seemed like he was always one hand short when the kid was around.

In the viewport, the planet’s green surface was being eaten away by the pale gray of permacrete structures. Ships, mostly freighters, buzzed around it. Here and there small personal transports joined the flow of traffic, which meant there was a chance he could land without being affiliated with a corporation. In any case, no one had shouted at him yet. He eyed the other ships as he waited for the all-clear, alert for any sign of another bounty hunter.

It was perfectly quiet. To all appearances, this planet was just a cluster of warehouses in the middle of nowhere—which made it a strange place to find help.

The comm pinged. He put the kid down on the deck and said firmly, “Don’t touch anything.”

The kid wiggled his nose in blissful ignorance. Din sighed again.

As soon as he opened the channel, a crisp voice announced, “You are cleared to land on the south public pad. Begin your descent.”

“Copy.” He clicked off the comm and plugged in the landing area coordinates. And then, because he was used to doing everything one-handed, he made another call while he brought the ship in. The stabilizers flickered out for a heart-dropping moment when the kid tried to pull a switch off the wall, but Din lunged over and got them straightened out. “Just sit down for a second,” he said lowly, exasperated. “All right? We’re almost there. Just sit down.”

“Su cuy’gar!” rang a new voice over his comm.

Din straightened to see the projection of a helmeted figure hovering over his controls. The shimmering blue image told him almost nothing of her armor, but the shape was slim and solid, built with maneuverability in mind. “Su cuy’gar,” he returned. “I heard you can help me lie low for a while.”

The other Mandalorian tilted her head down in silence. From her stance, he guessed she was leaning against the control panel. Tracking her down hadn’t been easy. Without their homeworld of Manda’yaim, Din’s clan was isolated; like the rest of the Mandos, they stuck together in a galaxy of strangers. He could easily count on one hand the Mandalorians he had met outside his own family. But all the same, word had gotten around about this one. “I can,” she said at last, “but I’m kind of in the middle of something. Why don’t you come on down and tell me what kind of trouble you got yourself into?”

“It’s a long story.”

She grinned; he could hear the brightness in her voice, plain as day. “Good. I love stories.”

The coordinates she sent weren’t far from his assigned landing, so touching down wasn’t the hard part. Din slid down from the cockpit to the main hold and paused, thinking. He looked up. Big, dark eyes blinked down at him, and those oversized ears perked up.

The hard part was deciding whether to bring the kid.

On the one hand, the kid always managed to bring himself whether he was wanted or not; on the other hand, there were bound to be old Imperial connections in a place this active. The last thing either of them needed was to bring more bounty hunters down on them. No sense making trouble.

Din plucked up the little one and brought him down to the hold. He was so impossibly light, practically just a bundle of cloth with ears. Din watched him wordlessly for a moment. And then he deposited him in something like a crib.

The crib in Sorgan had impressed him. His was less homey-looking, since most of his equipment was for restraining wanted criminals rather than small children. But if he was lucky, it would serve the same purpose. The kid tilted his head in comical curiosity.

Din pointed. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He strode down the landing ramp and locked the ship up tight.

He found her tinkering with her ship. He didn’t recognize the design, but it was a newer model than his—which wasn’t difficult. He stopped a respectful distance away and watched her examine the hull plates. “Beth Theron?”

He got a salute in response—followed by a low whistle. Beth straightened, tossing her tools into the toolbox. The slight movement of her helmet told him he was being examined, so he took the opportunity to examine her in turn. She was a handful of centimeters shorter than him. Her armor was blue-painted steel, simple in design, except for a couple of pieces. Her left vambrace and pauldron were painted red, and the scratches showed the shine of true beskar. She had a knife and a small pack strapped to her belt, but nothing else. Perhaps she was confident enough to do without her weapons here.

“I’ve never seen so much _actual_ beskar on one set of beskar’gam,” she admitted. He couldn’t say he minded the open admiration in her voice. “ _That’s_ what I call kandosii'la. Makes me wonder what I can possibly help you with.”

He jerked his chin toward her ship. “We’ll talk in private.”

Beth clapped him on the shoulder, and they both ascended the landing ramp. It was a low, wide space, not so different from his, but something struck him as odd. He’d scanned the layout twice before he realized what was missing—personal touches, long-term supplies. Beth didn’t live on her ship. He wasn’t sure whether to feel envious.

“You’re not a bounty hunter,” he said flatly.

She cocked her head at him for a silent moment, long enough for him to regret his tone. “No,” she replied without rancor, “I’m not very good at it.”

He glanced over his shoulder in the direction of his ship and sighed through his nose. “Neither am I.”

Beth broke into loud laughter. When his shoulders tightened, she waved off his offense. “No, no, honesty is very mandokarla, vod,” she managed, her tone still shimmering with laughter. “You just surprised me.” She sat on a crate and gestured toward a narrow bench bolted to the bulkhead. “What do you need?”

He sat carefully. “Somewhere to lie low, a place bounty hunters can’t find,” he answered. “For me, and… and a mark.”

“What, so the other bounty hunters can’t get your prize?” Beth asked dubiously.

“Something like that,” he muttered.

She was already shaking her head. “Sorry. Where I’m going is Mandos only.”

“He’s not an aruetii,” Din snapped. “He’s…” He stopped short, exhaling in frustration. It wasn’t exactly true; the kid wasn’t any kind of Mandalorian. But the kid was _his_ , and that had to count for something. “He’s with me. My whole aliit helped me rescue him.”

Her bearing softened. “Okay,” she said. “Does he know that?”

He shrugged, shaking his head. His voice came out strained. “He’s just a kid.”

Beth gave him another long look that he couldn’t decipher, but when she spoke again, she sounded cheerful as ever. “Why didn’t you tell me he was part of the clan?” She stood and offered a hand. “Of course I’ll help.”

He accepted it gratefully and let her help him to his feet. “Thank you.”

“What are vode for?” she replied breezily. “I have to finish my mission here first, but you’re welcome to help speed things along.”

He raised an eyebrow she couldn’t see. “Mission?”

Din didn’t need to see the grin behind her helmet to know how wickedly gleeful it was. “Oh, that? I’m taking some beskar back from the Imperials. A _lot_ of beskar.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“Is that a yes?”

Din rolled his shoulders in anticipation. Nothing soothed his thoughts like action, and little made him prouder than returning beskar to the clans. After the last few weeks, he could use both those things. He nodded.

“Kandosii,” Beth sang. “We’ll wait for dark and take both ships. In case it isn’t obvious, we’ll be high-tailing it out straight from the warehouse.”

He nodded again. “I’ll be ready.” He marched down the landing ramp and then stopped, half turning to face her. The words stuck for a moment, but he said them anyway. “Come meet him.”

Beth required no convincing on that front. She joined him not a minute later with a sack slung over one shoulder. “Dinner,” she explained sagely. “I never work on an empty stomach.” Din snorted and led her across the landing pad. He eyed her curiously as they walked. Even in his buir’s time, the community had been too large for every Mandalorian to know one another; but at least in those days, you knew the clans and their reputations. Now his people were too scattered to know even that. Clan Theron was a mystery to him. He had to wonder if they all walked this boisterously, eating up the ground in ferocious strides while their helmets swiveled this way and that to take in the scenery.

That turn of thought reminded him that she was technically a stranger. “This kid,” he began. “His bounty’s high.”

“Yeah?”

He stared at her, but she showed no signs of comprehending. “Be discreet.”

Beth snorted. “You’re telling _me_ ,” she retorted as if they had an inside joke. Unfortunately, Din was pretty sure that he would have to be aware of the joke in that case.

He shook himself and turned back to his ship—and froze. The landing ramp was down. “Oh, no,” he muttered. He broke into a run.

There was no one in sight, at least not close enough to the ship to matter. He pounded up the ramp, pistol in hand. The hold was untouched and empty. There was no sign of forced entry. Nothing had been taken. Even when he scrambled halfway into the cockpit, everything seemed to be in order.

He just _couldn’t find the kid_.

“Kid!” he called sharply. He dropped back to the main deck and turned up the audio sensitivity on his helmet. “ _Kid!_ ”

When he reached the stern of the ship, Beth was standing at the bottom of the ramp, wide stance and squared shoulders ready for trouble. He stormed down to meet her as she was saying, “I’ll check around the—”

Her knife was in her hand in a fraction of a second, and every angle of her body was aimed at a new threat behind him. Din spun around, pistol at the ready.

The kid stood partially behind a landing support. He blinked at them and squealed happily, oblivious to the danger as always.

Din let out a long breath. He reached out and caught Beth’s wrist. “It’s okay.”

But rather than relaxing her guard, Beth tensed and stepped forward, straining against his grip to bring the knife to bear. Her gleaming T-visor was deadly still and centered on the kid.

“Hey!” he snapped. “He’s just a kid!”

The kid in question cooed at her. Beth jerked back slightly as if from a blow. She fell still as the kid toddled over to them, but Din was too wary to let her go. They both looked down, watching the kid make slow circles around their boots. “He looks just like the leader of the jetiise,” she said quietly. “Do you remember the holos?”

Din released her, cautiously. She put the knife away but continued to stare at the kid. In any other situation, her tense, battle-ready stance would have been comical in the face of an unmindful toddler. “Some,” Din replied at last. He didn’t remember the larger players in the Clone Wars, only the soldiers.

She took a deep, unsteady breath. “Yoda. Oldest and most corrupt of the jetiise. Some of my family were slaves in that monster’s war.” She swallowed so loudly that the helmet speakers picked it up. “They’re gone now, most of my ba’vodu’e. Because they weren’t designed to live long. Just long enough to fight.”

Her shoulders dropped until she looked more defeated than anything. “I’m sorry,” Din said quietly. No Mandalorian had any love for the Jedi, especially after the clones—millions of men who should have been free Mandos had been forced to fight as Republic slaves instead. To have known those men as family… it was no wonder she was still angry. The kid’s ears wavered as he looked up at her. Beth’s hand curled into a fist, and then it relaxed.

Suddenly, she heaved a sigh and collapsed, cross-legged, on the permacrete ground. “You’re not him,” she said to the kid. “You _are_ just a kid, aren’t you? It’s not your fault.”

The kid made no answer except to pull curiously at her knee plate, burbling happily. Beth huffed and tapped his nose. A humorous note crept back into her voice. “You’d tell me if you were a war criminal _pretending_ to be a baby, right?”

Din knelt down and gently stopped the kid from gnawing on her armor. “The jetiise are gone,” he reminded her. “And I heard it was your clone aliit that did it.”

She hummed in agreement. “Ni ceta,” she told him, and her tone was too sincere to doubt. “I know that, but I still thought it was him. Just for a second.”

Din nodded wordlessly. He understood that some wounds ran deeper than others, and war never cut shallow.

They remained in heavy silence until the kid followed his nose to her forgotten sack of dinner. He immediately started pulling at the flap in an attempt to stick his head inside. Din sighed and picked him up to hold him away from the bag. Beth snickered. “Hungry, ad’ika?” She got to her feet alongside Din and slung the pack over her shoulder. “Me, too.”

They retreated into the ship. Din closed the ramp behind them. He eyed the kid as he did so, but if the kid was aware of how he’d opened the ramp, he was intent on being secretive about it. “You and everyone else here,” Din muttered.

He helped Beth unpack her meal onto a spare work area. It was simple traveling fare, but enough for everyone, and his stomach panged with the sudden realization that he hadn’t eaten all day. He worked his helmet off eagerly. With the ship secure, they were out of sight of any aruetiise.

Beth hesitated. She glanced sidelong at the kid. After a long moment, though, she pulled her helmet off, too, and set it beside her. She was human, with light skin and hair, and her eyes nearly matched the blue of her armor. Her grin was just as big and bright as it sounded. “Haili cetare!” she proclaimed. “Let’s _eat_.”

The way she said it made it sound like a meal back at the covert, elbow to elbow with his family. He was homesick and grateful at the same time. He fed the kid small strips of meat at intervals, which the kid gobbled up just as voraciously as any Mando.

Beth nodded at the kid. “What’s he eat?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Frogs,” Din replied. “Things I’m eating. Things he picks up off the ground.”

Beth choked. When she recovered, her face was red and her eyes watery, but she was still laughing. “Wayii.”

“You think he’s cute,” Din deadpanned.

“I reserve judgment.”

He tried to stifle a smile. It had been a while since he’d had to do that. Maybe Beth’s were contagious. “What’s the plan?”

She was giving him a strange, wide-eyed look. He frowned, but an instant later she came back to herself. “Right, the plan,” she agreed. She was still a little red from choking on her food. “I know where the beskar is being kept, and once it’s dark we’ll land close and approach on foot.”

“Friendly entry?”

She shook her head with a wry smile. “I’m not a good liar,” she informed him, “so I just plan to punch people.”

“Works for me.”

“I thought it might. I’ve got a hover flat you can pull on a cable. We load up as much beskar as we can carry, and we book it to Dantooine.”

Din’s brow furrowed dubiously. “Dantooine?”

“For a start. I’ll guide you from there.” She clasped her hands. “This is serious. The reason you can hide at this place is because we’ve been _very_ careful to keep anyone from being able to find it. You’ll be safe. And _no one_ can know where it is. Got it?”

He nodded.

“Jate.” Beth leaned back and shook her braid loose from its coil so that it hung down her back. “In that case, we’ve got time to kill. And I _really_ want to hear this long story of yours.” She smiled again—easily, like there was no reason not to.

One corner of Din’s mouth curled up in response. He wasn’t used to talking much. He told her the story anyway.

* * *

Two hours after nightfall found them crouched in view of a plain permacrete warehouse. The industrial lights that illuminated the planet’s hangars, streets, and warehouses crowded out the stars with a pervasive yellow tint. The day’s activity had quieted down; only a few guards lingered outside the main doors, and movement in and out was rare. No one was so bold as to wear stormtrooper armor, but Din knew an Imperial when he saw one. Several older humans with an aristocratic air had left, stepping with military precision.

Beside him, Beth had the cable to the repulsorlift flat wrapped in one fist. Much to his consternation, she remained unarmed.

But at least she wasn’t holding a baby.

The kid had made it clear in his blithe way that he wouldn’t be left on the ship. Beth had been more than a little amused at his antics, certainly more than Din was. Now he had the kid tucked in one arm. He looked down and shushed the kid as firmly as he could. “Stay quiet,” he whispered. “Got it?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Beth said airily through their private comm channel. “No one is going to hear baby noises over blaster fire and armor crunching.”

Din shook his head. Therons were crazy. “Let’s go.”

They took off at a dead run. Speed was key, not stealth. They were bound to be noticed; they just had to be gone before that attention became a problem. Din lined up his pistol and took a careful shot, burning through one guard’s center of mass and the others’ casual conversation. The remaining two scrambled for their own blasters.

Beth had the lead by a good few meters. She dug her boots in and swung the metal flat around; it hurtled in an orbit around her, and the guards were forced to dive back to avoid it. She leapt on top of one of them and kicked her squarely in the temple. Din recovered from the distraction enough to shoot the other.

“I thought you were unarmed,” he said breathlessly.

“I’m never unarmed,” she quipped. She shouldered him, teasing. “Come on, birikad. The show’s not over.”

He sighed heavily at the nickname but followed her in.

The warehouse was high-ceilinged and full of shadows. Beth paused to scan the building, one hand on her HUD controls. Two heartbeats later, she pointed and took off again. Din followed as fast as he dared with the kid against his side. They darted among towering rows of crates toward a well-lit section near the wall. Din spotted a pallet of cylinders identical to the one that had held his last payment—just as someone else spotted them.

“Hey! Stop right there!” A guard swung out from behind the corner. Unfortunately for him, Beth had too much momentum to obey, and she barreled right over him. He struggled to get to his feet, and Din slammed the guard’s head into the crates on his way by.

When he rounded the corner, Beth was half-crouched in a fighting stance, and two more guards were taking aim, too far away for her to reach. A staccato burst of blaster fire erupted over the pallet of beskar. Din ducked down and fired again. The smoking silence that followed was impossibly loud.

“Thanks,” Beth managed.

“All right?”

She held up her beskar vambrace. The paint was scorched from a blaster shot, but she and her armor were none the worse for wear.

Din nodded and stood up warily. Nothing happened. The guards lay dead or senseless around them. He looked over to Beth, and they locked gazes in the way only Mandalorians could through their helmets. Something in her posture changed, and somehow, he could tell she was grinning.

Red lights flashed, and an alarm wailed.

Din grunted. Beth muttered, “Wayii,” and dragged the repulsorlift flat over. Together they began flinging the cylinders of beskar onto it. It was a haphazard exercise, but they had very little time before the rest of the security forces zeroed in on them. Every impact of a container on the flat seemed to ring through the whole building. The kid was starting to whine from the noise.

Their race back to the entrance was slower for hauling the beskar. The value of the steel was in its density, which made it no joke to pull at speed, even with the help of a repulsorlift. Din closed his free hand over Beth’s and helped her drag it toward safety. He could hear distant voices. The kid’s ears were nearly pinned to the sides of his head, and he wailed as persistently as the alarm. “Almost there,” Din said whenever he had the breath for it. “It’s all right. Almost there.”

They _were_ almost there. A familiar set of doors appeared at the end of the aisle. Beth leaned into her sprint, and Din followed. He twisted to slam into the door with one shoulder, keeping the kid away from the impact.

He and Beth bounced off the doors with a painful clang. Din struggled to sit up, dazed, and saw Beth roll sideways just in time to avoid being crushed between the door and the flat full of beskar. Even the weight of the steel didn’t budge the door. Din levered himself to his feet and pounded at the controls to no effect. The warehouse was in lockdown.

The kid howled shrilly and squirmed in Din’s grasp. Din checked him over for injuries, but he was fine, just scared by the jolt and overwhelmed by the noise. Beth kicked the door and then put her back to it. There was movement in the distance, periodically illuminated by the flashing red alarm. “Ideas?” she said tightly.

He shifted closer. “Hold the kid. I need my rifle.”

“Come here, ad’ika,” she murmured, and took the bawling toddler. She balanced him against the slope of one chest plate so that his head rested on her shoulder. “I’ll keep trying the doors.”

Din nodded shortly and brought his rifle to his shoulder. He adjusted his HUD to show infrared. He would never be able to pinpoint a target in this light, but if he could get a heat signature—

Something _cracked_.

Metal groaned, drowning out even the alarms. There was a torturous creak, and the floor trembled beneath his feet.

The kid was crying and reaching plaintively for the doors. Whatever else he understood about what was happening, he knew the doors were the way back home to the ship. And so the doors were getting out of his way. It was as inexplicable as watching the mud horn float uselessly in the air. The secure industrial doors were buckling under an invisible force. With a tremendous ripping sound, they burst open, letting in the cool night air.

Beth was rooted to the spot, staring wordlessly at the ruined doors. Din gave her a push. “Go! Go!”

They ran again just as the first wild blaster shot sounded behind them. “He’s a jetii!” Beth squawked over the comm. “You adopted a kid and he’s a jetii!”

Din would have given her an incredulous look if he could have spared one. “ _What?_ ” She had the kid in one hand and the cable in the other. Their ships were coming into view fast. Din could judge a battle, and he was sure they were going to make it. So the armed security guards behind them didn’t unsettle him nearly as much as Beth’s words. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s a jetii thing, birikad!” she panted. “What the kid just did? That’s the osik’la _Force_!”

* * *

Beth’s wavering image hovered over the ship’s controls. The comms were the only way they had been able to talk for a couple of days now. Two ships required two pilots, and the kid might have been fifty, but Din didn’t exactly want him in charge of his one and only craft just yet. They had been making a complex series of hyperspace jumps designed to evade tails. It was making Din impatient on top of everything else.

“What does this change?” Din asked abruptly.

Beth, alone on her ship in communication with another Mando’ad, was barefaced. Her brow was drawn in thought. “What does it change for you?” she countered.

Din looked over at the cot he’d made out of the copilot’s chair. The kid was still sound asleep. Just like last time, using the Force had taken a lot out of him. Din adjusted the makeshift blankets around him, exhaling quietly. The kid’s nose twitched in his sleep.

“Nothing,” Din decided.

“He’s still your kid?”

“Yes.”

Beth smiled. It was tired but genuine. “Very mandokarla.” She rubbed her eyes. “Then it doesn’t change anything. He’s part of the aliit now.”

Din nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Her smile warmed. Din was too on edge and worn out to return it, but he felt it anyway. “Ready for one last jump?” she asked.

“Finally,” he huffed.

She gave a quiet laugh. “I’m sending over the nav data. We’re almost home.”

The jump was a short one, less than an hour. Most of Din’s restlessness evaporated when a soft, tired sound emanated from the copilot’s chair. He turned to smile slightly at the kid, who blinked blearily at him and seemed in no hurry to emerge from his nest of blankets. “All right?” Din asked. The kid perked his ears and wiggled contentedly.

They dropped out of hyperspace near the gravity well of an unexpectedly beautiful planet. It was all lush greens and clear blues, land and water interlocked in a vibrant combination. It looked almost wild.

The comm came to life with a broad transmission—Beth was calling out to someone on the planet below. “Su cuy’gar!"

There was a moment of static, and then a stern voice replied, “Su cuy’gar. Tion’ad olaro?”

Din stilled at hearing so much Mando’a at once. Beth answered unselfconsciously. “Beth Theron.”

Din hesitated, then leaned forward. “Din Djarin bal… ner ad.”

He held his breath through another staticky pause. Then the voice returned. “Olarom, vode. Gar kar’tayli vaii rusur?”

“Elek, vod!” Beth chirped. She steered their ship planetside. Din followed. He felt strange, hovering between confusion and disbelief. This felt like his buir’s story of the good old days. They passed through layers of atmosphere and skimmed over the canopy of a thick, verdant forest. The trees opened up into a cluster of buildings. They were short, with rounded architecture, and many of them were interconnected. Brightly colored banners hung from their windows and outer walls, signets and clan symbols. Above the door of the central building was metal wrought into the shape of a mythosaur skull, a sight that nearly knocked the breath out of him. The moment they landed, he picked up the kid and stumbled out onto the fresh green earth.

Beth was waiting for him. Her helmet was tucked under her arm, and she beamed in the open air, in full view of everyone in the settlement. It didn’t matter, not here.

“What is this?” Din demanded.

Beth laughed. She reached up and plucked his helmet off. The breeze stirred his hair, and the plain sunlight was a balm on his skin. She spread her arms wide. “Welcome to the new Manda’yaim,” she explained, smiling as brightly as the daylight. “You’re home.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Su cuy'gar:** a greeting, literally "You're still alive." Shorten this to a more informal greeting by saying, "Su'cuy!"
> 
>  **Beskar'gam:** armor, literally "iron skin."
> 
>  **Kandosii:** ruthless, unstoppable; used as a positive, supportive exclamation. "Kandosii'la" is a milder adjective that means stunning or amazing.
> 
>  **Mandokarla:** used to describe a fine example of Mandalorian virtue; having courage and spirit.
> 
>  **Vod:** sibling; can also be used like "comrade" among unrelated Mandalorians. The plural form is "vode."
> 
>  **Aruetii:** outsider or foreigner; can also refer to a traitor. The plural form is "aruetiise."
> 
>  **Aliit:** family or clan.
> 
>  **Buir:** parent.
> 
>  **Jetii:** a Jedi. The plural form used to refer to the Jedi as a whole is "jetiise."
> 
>  **Ba'vodu:** uncle or aunt. The plural form is "ba'vodu'e."
> 
>  **Ni ceta:** the more serious apology, literally "I kneel." The lighter form of apology would be "N'eparavu takisit," or "I eat my insult."
> 
>  **Ad:** child. Add the diminutive suffix 'ika to create a fond term much like "kiddo."
> 
>  **Haili cetare:** a call to start eating, literally "Fill your boots."
> 
>  **Wayii:** an exasperated exclamation much like "good grief."
> 
>  **Jate:** good.
> 
>  **Birikad:** a baby carrying harness. (Yes, she is teasing him.)
> 
>  **Osik'la:** an expletive meaning screwed up or horrible.
> 
>  **Tion'ad olaro?** "Who comes?"
> 
>  **Olarom:** welcome.
> 
>  **Bal:** and.
> 
>  **Ner:** my.
> 
>  **Gar kay'tayli vaii rusur?** "Do you know where to land?" In literal order, "You / hold in your heart / where / to land?"
> 
>  **Elek:** yes.


End file.
